Automotive restoration techniques and standards have risen to stratospheric levels. And why not? A picture-perfect machine that sparkles like the display cases at Tiffany’s is a great source of pride and stands to win big at the Snootville Concours d’Elegance. While doing this sort of resto work demands great skill from teams of talented craftsmen, having it is no more difficult than pillaging your savings account. Since there are dozens of shops that can turn out ostensibly perfect “100-point” cars, what’s the newest haute couture being sought out by the world’s most in-the-know enthusiasts?

Originality. Not the kind that’s restored in, but the kind every car was born with. Something can be refurbished one or 100 times and may be all the more beautiful for it. But it’s factory original only once.

This notion has spawned a movement within car-collecting circles that underpins preservation as opposed to restoration, even if that means the result is less dazzling at first than fresh, bought-and-paid-for perfection. As old cars are more than ever recognized as art, there’s a growing desire to own select pieces dressed in their original paint, chrome, and interior.

The effect of time, use, and wear-patina-is proud testimony as to where a car has been and how long and well it’s survived. If a 500-year-old marble statue were missing a part or two, you wouldn’t just chisel new ones out of stone and glue them on, would you? No more than you’d take a paintbrush to a Monet, just to brighten the sky a bit. Yo, this is history we’re talking about.

There are several subsets of this preservation philosophy. There’s even an international organization dedicated to it, the Federation Internationale des Vehicules Anciens (fiva.org). Some people aren’t into the idea at all; they want their toys shiny and bright. Which is okay, too: Many cars are in too bad a shape to be preserved as such and must be fully restored to be appreciated. Other collectors prefer a “sympathetic” restoration, retaining as much of the original surfaces and finishes as possible, but still redoing what’s necessary for that show-car look. The most hard-core types are all for maintaining cars mechanically and making them safe and roadworthy, but they wouldn’t think of doing anything that would “improve” that hard-earned patina.

The amazing Shelby Cobra on these pages is one such automobile. Its dull, pockmarked, timeworn look has even earned it an affectionate nickname: Dirtbag.

If there’s anyone besides Carroll Shelby who could rightly wear the nickname “Mr. Cobra,” it’s Lynn Park. This affable, retired elevator salesman has been into Cobras for more than three decades, yet is as enthusiastic about them as ever. He owns 10. And how many has he possessed over time? “27. Or 28. No, 27. I think. Yup, 27.” Park isn’t feigning modesty. He just doesn’t dwell on such things. We’ve seen several of his cars, and they’re all in spectacular condition. Then there’s Shelby Cobra chassis number 2307.

Fred Offenhauser of the racing engine and speed parts family bought it new in Southern California. “He didn’t buy it until 1968 or ’69,” Park recalls. “I think the dealer must’ve used it as a demo and then kept it to drive for a few years. Offenhauser repainted the car immediately-I guess he just didn’t want a red one-and drove it until 1975, then parked it. Outside. Under a tarp.”

Although Offenhauser appeared done with the now pale-yellow Shelby, the car wasn’t for sale. People in the neighborhood, car collectors, and ardent Cobra guys pursued it for decades, “but Fred’s wife chased them away, occasionally with a shotgun. It wasn’t until a buddy of mine from Palo Alto heard about the car and went down there with a trailer and bought it. That was about 10 years ago.”

On his way home, Park’s pal stopped to show him what he’d bought. “He said, ‘Lynn, I’m going to make this into a race car.’ I said, ‘No, you can’t. You cannot do that to this.’ So, we found him a race car, did some horse trading, and I ended up with this one out of the deal. As he never took title to it and only had it long enough to sell it to me, I consider myself the second owner.”

Park’s first inclination was to restore the crusty Cobra to authentic and, of course, showroom condition. “But after I had it a few months and started playing with it, I decided I had to keep it the way it is. People were making such a fuss over it, I had to leave it alone.” The disinterment process was straightforward, although it required patience. Park is a poster boy for the philosophy that cars were meant to be driven, and he didn’t want to do anything to take away from this Cobra’s time-warp look. “The best cars you have are the ones that have never been apart. Good or bad, you know what it is.”

“I swapped the seats for another set that were worn but period-correct, because the originals were thrashed. I changed the water pump, rebuilt the carb, replaced the fan belt and all the fluids, and fixed up the exhaust system, although I’ve never been into the motor. That was a gamble, because it had been sitting so long-Marvel Mystery Oil to the rescue! When I first got it running, it smoked a lot. The more I drove it, the less it smoked. Now, it doesn’t smoke at all, which is kinda’ disappointing-a car that looks like this almost wants to smoke a little. The brake and clutch pedals were frozen; you couldn’t move them with both feet. I have hundreds of hours in the preservation of it, because I tried to do it all without changing the look of things or removing any dirt.”

Park still appreciates a beautifully presented machine, Cobra and otherwise. Yet he knows he has something special. “People flock to this car. When I first got it, it was on display at the Petersen Automotive Museum among more than 100 other Cobras. Shelby himself could not get over this car. He was all over it. Just loved it. You’d be amazed how many people have come to look at it when they’re restoring their own. It’s become like a restoration pattern. It’s just the kinda’ thing where you say, ‘Wait a minute-maybe I shouldn’t touch this.’ There are more and more people thinking that same way.” LIKE A 911 OR XK120, a Cobra screams sports car. Short, windowless doors provide access to a cockpit that’s elegant in its simplicity. A wood-rimmed, alloy three-spoked steering wheel frames the two most important Stewart Warner instruments. Half a dozen ancillary gauges sit just to the right of the speedo and tach, arranged like so many bowling pins on the I.P. The bucket seatbacks come up to your shoulder blades, and the shifter that connects you and the Borg-Warner T-10 four-speed transmission is no taller than a Magic Marker. Park’s car is equipped with several factory options, such as Plexiglas sunvisors and wind wings and a Cobra-specific AM radio that proudly declares it’s “All Transistor.”

The odometer reads fewer than 36,000 miles, and 2307’s leather seats wear the creases of a wise old man’s face. The black carpeting is faded and threadbare in more than a few places. At least two of the gauges don’t work, the dash covering is pulling away here and there, and the vinyl on the rear tonneau cover has had more stitches than most NFL linemen. But like your favorite pair of jeans, broken-in penny loafers, and a well-tailored if slightly worn tweed blazer, it feels so damn comfortable. Breathe in. Yes…good old-car smells.

For all the hoo-ha over the more powerful and better-developed 427 Cobras, the earlier, narrower 260- and 289-cubic-inch Ford V-8-powered cars are the ones that gave birth to the legend. They won all the big races, begat the FIA championship-winning Daytona Cobra Coupes, and broke the hearts of Corvette and E-Type owners throughout the mid-1960s. The first-gen Cobra’s shapes are less bloated than the big-block model’s, its mood is sportier if not as aggressive, and those knockoff wire wheels and rear exit exhausts are classic 1960s sports car touches. Cobra 2307 spews patina from every pore.

There’s a brief belch of blue smoke as the small-block Ford fires, then settles into an easy idle. It doesn’t sound much different from a 1966 Mustang with worn-out glasspack mufflers. The brake pedal is firm, the clutch direct, and the shifter engages first gear with ease. In this world of computer-controlled, electronically enhanced, variable-ratio power-steering systems, it’s easy to forget how direct and organic unencumbered steering feels in a car that’s light enough not to require any of that stuff. Goose the gas pedal, feel (there’s that word again) the clutch take up, and you’re away.

While 271 horsepower doesn’t sound like a lot, in a roadster that weighs little more than 2000 pounds, it’s plenty. Road tests of the day claim a 0-to-60 time of around 5.8 seconds, and we don’t doubt it. There’s ample torque down low, and the real sweet spot begins at about 2500 rpm. We don’t push this unopened 289 much past 5000 revs, although they were good to 6500. Hard on the throttle, and the pipes blare a familiar V-8 warble. Downshift and let the engine do the braking, and it burbles and pops as it should. Wonder if there are any tunnels around here…

The shorty shifter makes rowing the trans a joy; love that little T-handle for engaging reverse. Like most of the rest of this car, the clutch and transmission are untouched since they were installed more than 40 years ago. Considering that the chassis design dates back to the AC Ace of the 1950s and there are transverse leaf springs front and rear, the ride quality is good, until the pavement gets choppy. Carroll Shelby once told us, “The chassis flex in the early Cobra is part of the suspension. People try to stiffen them up, which kills the handling and the ride.”

Cornering the car along the famed Angeles Crest Highway, it hits me. Since I’m not concerned about rock chips, water, or a dirty roadsurface that would soil up the average trailer queen, I relax. I take in the trees and hills and fresh air and a dazzling orange sunset. I focus more on driving this Cobra than any fear of hurting it. People point and wave. My cheeks hurt. From smiling.

Will Dirtbag ever be for sale? Lynn Park reflects: “I get a lot of questions about that. The first thing people want to know is if it’s ‘a real Cobra,’ which is funny because, obviously, it is. Then they want to know if I want to sell it. And I say, ‘No.’ Then they want to know when I’m going to start the restoration. And I say, ‘Never.’ Because this one’s done.”

As noted, Lynn Park has owned nearly 30 Cobras, from this unrestored small-block version to factory racing-spec 427s.

Why I like it: “Originally, I was going to restore it. But after I had it a few months and started playing with it, I decided I have to keep it the way it is. It’s a really good driver because you don’t have to worry about it.”

Why it’s collectible: It’s a Cobra, silly. They’ve been collectible for decades, but are enjoying yet another resurgence in the classic-car market. Limited production, great looks, race-winning performance and heritage.

Restoring/maintaining: Cobras are mechanically simple cars and easy to maintain and restore. Plenty of parts are available, as long as you know the right folks, although rare. NOS pieces are expensive and hard to find.

Beware: The alloy bodies don’t rust, but the chassis will. Watch out for cars that have been modified.

Then: “It has everything a sports car should have. The power is tremendous, and it has brakes and handling to match. Very impressive. If I could afford a car like this, I’d like it as a second car-just for fun.” Jim Wright, Motor Trend, September 1963

Now: As hot a collectible as any Ferrari, Vette, or musclecar. The original Cobra was the genesis of the Shelby legend, and to own one is to have a significant piece of automotive history that’s still damn fun to drive.

To Restore or Not Restore: That is the Question

Until recently there was little quandary over what to do with a classic car that had just been pulled from the proverbial barn. The goal was perfection. This notion has evolved, however, as cars are being recognized as unique collectibles with their own individual history.

“The car-collecting hobby is relatively new, when compared with things like antique furniture, paintings, ceramics, and other fine works of art,” says Ed Gilbertson, noted Ferrari expert and chief judge of the Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance. “The tendency has been, up until very recently, to do whatever is necessary-and ‘necessary’ in this instance is subjective-to make the car as good as it could be. There wasn’t a lot of effort to preserve original panels and components if it was easier or less expensive to replace them. That’s okay on the surface, but it resulted in far too many from-the-ground-up restorations.”

While everyone appreciates high-quality work-collectors demand and pay dearly for it-it’s reached the point where cars are usually rebuilt to a standard far beyond what they were like new. Too often, a little improvement or embellishment is added along the way. This goes beyond the pursuit of originality and authenticity, words Gilbertson uses often. There are now dozens of restoration companies that can perform Pebble Beach-quality restorations, whether you have a Hispano or a Hemi. All that’s required is a fat checkbook.

Big-game car shows and concours have fostered this mentality, because few focus on originality. Design and appeal are the most important criteria, so it becomes a beauty contest. Or as one collector puts it, “a war fought with gleaming paint and dazzling chrome.” But since that field is easy to level by spending big bucks, do well-preserved, original, beautifully patina’d classics become the next Holy Grail for the most committed and affluent car types?

“I believe so,” says Rob Myers, founder and president of RM Auctions and RM Restorations. “More significant collectors are seeking out only the finest original examples of certain cars. There’s one East Coast collector who won’t even buy a restored car any more. He has a lot of nice cars, and today the only thing that turns him on are the greatest original existing examples of important cars. And he’ll pay whatever it takes to buy them.

“These collectors,” Myers continues, “realize that, in terms of automotive history, looking ahead 100 years from now, those cars will be the most significant. Yet others won’t even consider them, because they want everything in their building to be perfect, far better than when new.”

Even then, many cars reach a point where they’re too far gone for any sort of preservation effort, and the only way to make them operational, not to mention beautiful, is to redo them from the ground up. Myers’s shop performed the flawless resto on the Daimler Double-Six that took top honors at Pebble last year.

“If the Daimler had been a spectacular original,” he says, “Mr. Lee would never have restored it. Being that it had been painted several times in its life, had been reupholstered, had dents and chips and bruises, there was no original patina to preserve. Once they get to that point, I’m all for making them pristine. But if it had all original paint and upholstery and been in good shape, it would’ve been criminal to restore it.”

Preservation doesn’t mean originality to the point of not replacing wear or service items or that a car shouldn’t be well presented. Many shops specialize in show-prep detailing that’s far more than a wax job, but stops short of restoration. Myers encourages this. “It’s like sending a rare Picasso out to be cleaned and perhaps repairing a few flaws from damage that occurred over time. They’re not changing anything; they’re just making the best of what the original piece is.”

Gilbertson summarizes: “We need to get the message out to the owners of those unrestored, well-preserved machines and say, ‘Leave this car alone. It’s fine just as it sits.’ These are the cars that are going to rise to the top.”

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